


A Little Less Conversation

by romanticalgirl



Category: British Actor RPF, Hornblower RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That's not what you do. That's not how you are</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Less Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as OMGWTFRPSFadetoblack.
> 
> Originally posted 5-11-06

They’ve been at the party now for hours and he’s tired of smiling, tired of squinting into the bright lights. He’s had too much to drink, though he’s still got another glass in his hand and is still sipping the silver-gold contents. He’s shaken hands with peers and actors he grew up admiring and kissed the arse of more people than the last Hollywood party he was at, though that’s because Hollywood parties are somewhat more selective than the BAFTAs. His tie is too tight and he just wants to leave, but he doesn’t want to leave alone, and so far, he’s searched just about every square inch of the party and seen neither hide nor hair of Jamie, and he’s well acquainted enough with both that it’s bothering him more than he can say.

“Where the fuck are you, wanker,” he whispers under his breath as he winds through another hallway tangled with bodies and finds himself in some sort of music room. There are small clumps of people gathered together and there’s laughter and more alcohol and a few couches covered in folks that are going to be wishing they’d had more taste and less to drink in the morning. And in the doorway leading to the terrace is Jamie. “About fucking time.”

He makes his way through the crowd, smiling and nodding and stopping to chat a time or two - _Yes, Sir Anthony, a pleasure, Sir. Why no, I’ve not met Peter Weir. Quite an honor._ \- but Ioan’s goal constantly remains in sight as Jamie turns a bit and the Chinese lanterns on the terrace send rosy shadows over his face.

He feels the familiar surge in several areas – heart, groin, stomach – and smiles, hoping the people gathered around him aren’t discussing the price of petrol or George Bush or something equally horrific making his smile unwarranted or, even worse, in bad taste. But he can’t help the reaction. The planes of Jamie’s face are delineated sharply, his jaw and cheekbones smooth and clean, his skin tanned against the crisp white of his shirt, his hair longer than regulation length with just a hint of blonde touching the surfaces. Ioan takes a drink to hide another smile only to have the curve of his lips fade as his gut wrenches hard.

Jamie laughs and turns a bit more, the movement offering Ioan a full view of the woman standing in front of Jamie, the one holding his whole attention. It hadn’t occurred to Ioan until this moment that whenever he and Jamie were in a room together, they seemed to know, seemed to sense each other’s presence. But Jamie’s not glanced his way once, and from the dark, wavy hair and the sapphire blue dress Ioan sees, he’s terribly afraid he knows why.

Ioan responds on instinct to a question asked of him, finishing off the drink in his hand and reaching for another from a passing tray. He sips it and his fingers tremble against the cool glass as he watches them over the rim of the crystal, his eyes noting everything.

Jamie’s hands are empty, though there’s a drink beside him. Ioan knows from experience there’s nothing but club soda with lime in the glass, and it almost makes it worse, knowing that Jamie’s not even got the excuse of Jude Law and whichever backstage bint he’s got beneath him on the couch. Jamie picks up the glass and takes a drink and the woman reaches out and taps it with a fingertip, causing Jamie’s eyes to crinkle slightly, a hint of the smile Ioan can’t see.

She touches his jacket, her nails bright against the black then reaches up to the lapel, smoothing her hand over it. Jamie leans in to say something to her and she laughs, shaking her head. Ioan’s drink is nearly gone and he excuses himself under the guise of obtaining another one, moving closer to the terrace slowly, his eyes never leaving them. After a moment, she leans in again and whispers something in Jamie’s ear. Ioan stops, dead still as he searches what he can see of Jamie’s expression. He gives away nothing - _bloody fucking actors_ \- then turns to say something to her, and in that moment, Ioan sees her.

She’s gorgeous, he can appreciate that much, even in the moment. Her dress is almost the exact color of her eyes and her dark hair falls around her face and frames her pale skin like a picture. Her lips are red and parted and inviting and dangerously close to Jamie’s ear as she leans in again, hand tightening around his arm, another secret offered up. Jamie smiles, his own blue eyes alight with laughter. Ioan shifts, leaning against the wall and watching still, trying to figure out when he last saw Jamie smile.

 _Go_ , the voice whispers in his head, though he’s not sure if he means to tell himself to go to Jamie or go home. It’s obvious Jamie’s enjoying himself and doesn’t want to leave. In fact, the server has just dropped off a fresh drink for him and one for her, only Jamie’s taking it off the tray and handing it to her. Her fingers touch his hand and she pulls away slowly, and Ioan’s pretty sure if he doesn’t move, doesn’t do something, he’s going to be embarrassing himself far more than Jude Law.

He forces himself away from the wall and walks over, smile firmly planted on his face. The woman sees him first, her expression causing Jamie to turn enough to meet his gaze. He offers a smile and opens his mouth, but Ioan shakes his head to cut him off. “I’m heading home, Jamie. Just thought I’d say that it was good to see you again. I hope…I hope you enjoy your holiday here at home.”

“You as well, Ioan. Though I’m sure L.A. misses you.” His brow is furrowed slightly, though the lines disappear as he laughs. “I’m so sorry. Ioan, this is Elisbeth Winchell. She’s with Universal.”

“DreamWorks now, actually.”

She holds out her hand to shake and Ioan takes it, his smile ragged at the corners. “Pleasure. I’ll leave you two to your conversation. I’m sorry to have interrupted.” He smiles at Jamie without meeting his eyes. “Always a pleasure, Bamber.”

“Yes,” Jamie’s voice is low and Ioan can hear something in it that sounds too much like regret for the amount of booze Ioan’s had. “Always.”

**

There’s an after party, but Ioan ignores the subtle and not-so invitations that he gets as he makes his way to the front door and says his goodbyes. It may not be the best for his career, but right now all he wants to do is get in his car and drive, away from the lights and the sounds and the smells. He rubs his hand on the thigh of his trousers, scrubbing off the scent of her perfume that seems to linger, swallowing hard as the cloying smell seems to burn his throat.

He tries not to twitch as he waits for the valet to bring his car around. The temptation to pace and tap his foot and smoke seem overwhelming, and he has to keep reminding himself that he’s not a pacer, has no rhythm and he gave up smoking ages ago except when he’s out, he’s drunk and he’s having too good a time. “Two out of three, Gruffudd,” he reminds himself, wondering if there’s anyone around he can actually bum a fag off from when a hand grasps his shoulder.

“I came in a cab.”

“Did you at least clean it up afterwards?” The joke is an old one from the day Ioan stole Jamie’s clothes and he was forced to ride in the boot of the cab, but tonight it doesn’t bring up good memories so much as fall flat in the air between them.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to go out of your way and give me a lift home?”

“Depends,” Ioan forces himself to turn and look at Jamie and smile. “Have you got a fag?”

Jamie flinches at the word, too long in America and far too sensitive to the hard hint in Ioan’s voice, but he shakes his head. “I’m not even allowed to eat bread, you think they let me smoke?” Jamie shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks up to the balls of his feet then down to his heels. “I thought you gave up smoking.”

“Mostly.” The valet pulls Ioan’s car to the curb and gets out, handing him the keys. He gets in then looks up at Jamie. “Come on then.”

“You’re sure?”

Ioan shakes his head, mindful of the few people scattered nearby. “No. But come on anyway.”

**

They’re at a light when Jamie speaks for the first time, the silence like another passenger planted firmly on the gear shift between them. “Are you going to tell me what I did?”

“What makes you think you did something?”

“You came up, told me you were leaving and then proceeded to do so almost before I could extract myself from my conversation and come up with a plausible excuse to need a lift.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“No,” Jamie drawls the word, his eyes cutting over to Ioan’s. “No. I guess you didn’t. Perhaps you should just let me out then, and I’ll catch a cab here. Sorry if I misunderstood.”

Ioan doesn’t pull over and doesn’t speak, moving through the light with the flow of traffic. Finally he turns his head slightly to catch Jamie’s profile in the passing street lamps. “What were you talking about? Possible new project?”

“She was with Universal and worked on the Galactica press and promotion for the DVDs. It was just…she’s a friend.” He shifts in his seat and faces Ioan. “Is that what this is about? Me having a conversation with someone?”

“Shall I drop you at your hotel?”

“You’ll take me to your flat and we’ll have this discussion. Are you jealous that I was having a _conversation_?” Ioan doesn’t respond, turning on his signal light and heading deeper into town toward his flat. Jamie crosses his arms over his chest, his irritation plain on his face each time they pass beneath a light. “Are you going to answer me?”

“Not in the car.”

“Oh, so you can bring it up in the car and basically…what? Are you accusing me of something, Ioan? Because if it’s anything like _flirting_ or _giving the wrong impression to someone_ , you’d best take a sharp look in the mirror above your fucking bed before you go pointing any fingers at anyone else.”

Ioan bites the insides of his lips, holding his mouth closed. His hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles white and defined. He pulls into the garage and keys the gate, driving to his assigned spot and parking, his hands shaking as he pulls the keys from the ignition. He doesn’t look at Jamie as he gets out, doesn’t glance back to see if he’s following. At the elevator, he jabs in his code and shoves his hands in his pockets, staring at the tile pattern on the floor until Jamie’s polished shoes fill his vision.

Another car pulls in and Ioan jabs the “door close” button, sighing as the steel moves and the elevator kicks into its upward climb. He counts the floors in his head, the faint ghost of a ding ringing before they hit each new level. Jamie’s arms are still crossed, his jaw set, his teeth clenched. He looks imposing in his tux, the body forced on him by Galactica softer but no less menacing, a lovely wrapping on a deadly package.

Ioan opens the door to the flat and moves into the lounge, shedding his jacket and undoing his tie in smooth motions, one off and one loose by the time Jamie’s shut the door behind them. He drapes the jacket over the back of a chair and unfastens the top button of his shirt before lifting his eyes to Jamie who’s just inside the door, still fully done up. His face is unreadable, though it tells Ioan everything he needs to know.

“Go on.”

“Me?” Jamie purrs the word, the sound without any of the sexual heat that normally fills it. Instead it’s the dangerous growl of a predator, hungry for the taste of flesh, the first hint of blood. “You want me to start this, Ioan?”

“Or finish it. One or the other.”

That stops Jamie for a long moment and then he relaxes, the coiled tension leaving him like sand falling through fingers. “You’re mad because I was talking to someone.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Upset then? Jealous? Enraged? Furious? Hurt?” He stops as Ioan flinches. “Hurt?” When Ioan doesn’t answer, he shakes his head. “I’m not going to play games with you, Ioan. If you’ve got something to say to me, then say it.”

“You were talking to her.”

“Yes. That’s conversation. I know you’ve heard of it. Hell, I’ve known you to carry on one or two yourself. Should I be slitting my wrists then?”

“You don’t carry on conversations with people, Jamie.”

“I’d have to beg to differ.” Jamie smirks. “Why, when you’re not around, Ioan, I chat up all sorts of people.”

Ioan rakes his hand through his hair, the carefully done style falling apart and sticking up raggedly. “At parties. You don’t. You might talk to a person or two, but you move around. You don’t get cornered. You enjoy yourself, but you don’t stay in one place.”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been at a party together, Ioan. You’ll remember we’re not all on the A-list.”

“This isn’t about fucking careers, Jamie.” He puts his hand to his face, his fingers pressing hard against his temples. “I’m a fucking butterfly, all right? I admit that. I flirt. I tease. I promise. I suggest. I hint. I use sex and sexuality like it’s my stock in trade and I know you hate it, because it’s not fair to you and it’s probably cruel. But I get in those situations, and I turn on the charm because that’s what I do and that’s who I am.”

“Yes, well, thank you for that reminder.”

“It has nothing to do with you. It’s not about hurting you and it’s not about making you jealous and it’s certainly not about getting laid. I don’t want to fuck those people and I don’t want them fucking me. It’s a game, and I play it, and maybe I play it too well for the people…person that I care about, okay? I get that. I’m the camera’s whore.” He takes a step forward and stops, his hand reaching out toward Jamie for a moment before falling back at his side. “You’re not like that.”

“No. I’m not a whore.”

“That’s not…” Ioan blows out a breath and closes his eyes, his lips moving silently as he counts, the soft whisper of consonants clearly Welsh. “When you’re interested in someone, you don’t do those things. You…” He bows his head and rubs his temples again before sliding his fingers back through his hair. “Do you remember how we started?”

Jamie shakes his head and huffs out a sigh. “Ioan? Are you going to start making any sense tonight? It’s late, I’m tired and I wish you’d just get to the fucking point.”

He nods and moves to the sofa, sinking down on it, his hands between his spread knees. “I’m a whore at parties and you’re just Jamie. When I’m really interested in someone, I go quiet. Shy almost. I don’t do well with the initial pursuit, I want someone to pursue me, so I know I’m not imagining things.”

Jamie shifts slightly, leaning back against the wall. His arms are still crossed over his chest and his eyes are still on Ioan, though the gaze has sharpened as he watches Ioan’s face.

“When you want someone, when you pursue them, you…engage them. You talk to them, get close and intimate and talk about everything. You touch their hand and you hold your arms out so it’s so easy to make contact. You lean in. You…you turn those eyes on the person and hold them with your gaze and there’s no one else in the room.” His shoulders slump and he runs his fingers through his hair again, resting his palm against the back of his neck. “You weren’t just having a conversation tonight.”

“She’s a friend, Ioan.”

“No,” Ioan shakes his head and lifts his eyes to meet Jamie’s. “She’s more. Or you want her to be.”

“Is that really what you think?”

“I was in the room for half an hour, Jamie. I watched you. And you didn’t know I was there until I was right behind you. And even then you didn’t notice until she brought your attention ‘round.”

“So because I can’t sense you in a room crowded with half the British film and television industry, I’m cheating on you? Or trying to?”

“No. Because you were so caught up in her, you didn’t even hear me say your name.”

**

Jamie shoves off the wall and goes into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator. Ioan can hear the clink of bottles and the ping of metal and looks over in time to see Jamie enter the room with two dark brown bottles in his hand. He sets one on the table in front of Ioan before settling into the chair opposite him and taking a long pull from the one still in his hand.

Jamie closes his eyes as he swallows, shivering as he lowers the bottle. Ioan watches him, the hit of something akin to joy in his expression and Ioan wonders how long it’s been since Jamie’s actually had a drink. Ioan holds his own bottle lightly, not really thirsty, though watching Jamie take another drink makes his throat ache. “Jamie…” His voice rasps the word, desire thick in his throat.

Jamie raises a finger to quiet him as he takes another long drink. His eyes are still closed, his head tilted back to expose the long line of his throat above his tie. Ioan balls his hands into fists, the desire to reach out and catch an end of the black cloth suppressed by digging his nails into his palms. Jamie swallows again and looks at Ioan, setting the empty bottle on the table between them.

“So, you think I’m cheating on you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No. You didn’t. You implied it by telling me because I was chatting someone up, I’m obviously…what? Fucking around?” Jamie sighs and rubs the back of his neck with one hand while he undoes his tie with the other. “Ioan, I hate these parties. And right now, I’ve nothing to sell. I’m contractually obligated to Ron for another two years, and getting around that for _anything_ is almost more trouble than it’s worth.”

Ioan takes a sip of his beer and licks his lips, his eyes on Jamie’s throat just above his collar. Jamie sighs and reaches up to undo the first few buttons, exposing more flesh to Ioan’s eyes. Ioan drops his gaze to the middle of Jamie’s chest and takes another drink.

“I don’t want to be in the spotlight right now, Ioan. And while I’m fine being there, I’m not going to be the social butterfly for no reason. So I happened across someone I knew and hadn’t seen in a while. We started talking.”

Swallowing hard, Ioan lifts his eyes to Jamie’s as he lifts the bottle to his lips again. “About what?”

“The party. The people. Her new job.”

“And which of those required whispering in your ear? Which of those required you leaning in to do the same?” Ioan clears his throat roughly and shakes his head. “You looked…intimate.”

Jamie bows his head and sighs, reaching out for the empty bottle and running his thumbs along the neck. Ioan watches the movements and takes a long pull of his own beer, forcing himself to look away. “We were just talking.”

He nods and sets his beer down. “I believe you.”

“But you don’t.” Jamie sighs and sets the bottle down again, getting to his feet and shoving his hands in his pockets as he walks a short distance away. “You think because I talk to someone at a party, I’ve got an overwhelming desire to fuck them.”

“What were you talking about, Jamie? Before I interrupted?”

“I don’t know.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and sighs. “Work. Life. She was telling me about her new car.”

“Offered to give you a ride?” Ioan quirks an eyebrow as Jamie looks up, something flashing in his blue eyes. “Let you test drive it?” Ioan shakes his head and gives way to the smile that curves his lips. “She did.” Jamie doesn’t nod, but Ioan can see the realization dawning in his eyes. “And you didn’t even realize.”

Jamie huffs out a laugh. “No.”

Ioan gets to his feet slowly, all the jealousy and anger gone as he moves languidly, his dark eyes bent on seduction as Jamie shifts, leaning against the door, his blue eyes watching Ioan intently. “Some lovely lady offers to let you test drive her and you don’t even notice at all.”

The corner of Jamie’s mouth edges up slightly. “No.”

“You’re either quite stupid, quite daft or –“

“In love with someone else.”

Ioan stops, a slight shiver running down his spine. “Say that again.”

“That I’m in love with someone else?” Jamie asks with a smile. “Or would you rather I say that I’m in love with you, you stupid, jealous wanker?”

“The second bit, only without the insults.” Ioan stops in front of Jamie and reaches up, his thumb brushing Jamie’s lower lip. “I’m sorry.”

“That I love you?”

“That I thought for a moment that you didn’t.” He closes the distance between them, his mouth replacing his thumb against Jamie’s lips. His next words are breathless and warm in Jamie’s mouth. “Forgive me?”

Jamie smiles, and Ioan realizes he was wrong earlier – Jamie hadn’t smiled for her. Not like he smiles for him. A long, slow kiss answers Ioan’s question, but not nearly as well as the promise in Jamie’s eyes as he catches Ioan’s hand and leads him toward the bedroom. “Yes.” He stops at the foot of the bed and draws Ioan close again. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t expect you to make it up to me.”


End file.
